by Roger Noons
a glass of milk
Jasmine stepped out of the lift, almost colliding with a young woman pushing a buggy. She’d obviously expected the car to be empty.
‘Oh, sorry … it’s him, he’s playing up, won’t sit still.’ She stared. ‘Aren’t you that model … the face of … what is it?’
‘No, I think you must be confusing me with someone else.’ Before the girl could add anything, Jazz strode away. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the girl was still looking, so darted into M & S. As soon as she arrived in the lingerie area she relaxed.
After making a couple of purchases, gifts for her mother, she rode the escalator to the upper floor, headed for the food department. It was while she was reading the label on a ready made pasta bake that she felt a tap on her shoulder. Glancing up, a man asked her.
‘Have I seen you on TV? Were you in—’
Shaking her head, she frowned. ‘On TV? No, not me.’
‘You’re very much like the girl in the Lancôme advert.’
She laughed. ‘That’s Julia Roberts, I’m flattered you think I look like her.’
‘It must be another one then, I’m sure I’ve seen you. Yes, I remember, those women’s things … pads … You’re the Tena girl. My wife buys those. She says they’re very good.’
Jazz was furious, shaking. She threw down the package and ran towards the door. As it began to slide open, a uniformed man stepped in front of her.
‘You seem to be in something of a hurry, Miss, is something wrong?’
With a deep sigh, she shook her head. ‘Sorry, a man was annoying me, I wanted to get away from him.’ She took in the word SECURITY on the man’s left shoulder.
‘I think it best that you come along to the office, we’ll see if we can identify him.’
‘No. It’s all right thank you, I’d just like to leave.’
‘It’ll just take a few minutes. I need to fill out a form. We have to keep a record of unusual behaviour.’
‘Okay,’ Jazz said, and followed him to the office.
‘My name’s Michael Littlewood, I’m the Manager of this store. I gather someone was bothering you?’
Jazz sighed. ‘Wherever I go, people keep telling me they recognise me from something they’ve seen on TV.’
He stared. ‘You do look like the girl who advertises underwear for Debenhams.’
‘For God’s sake. I am not a model, I have never been on television.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you are beautiful, you could—’
Her stare silenced him. ‘May I go now, please?’ He shrugged, so she stood up and after nodding, walked out of his office.
She hadn’t left the car park before her phone rang. She pressed the button on the steering wheel and heard Monica’s voice.
‘Got a job for you Jazz, three days in Paris.’
‘Waitressing in a bistro, I hope?’
About the author
Roger is a regular subscriber to Café Lit.